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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23847808">Legacies Never Die</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etched_in_Fire/pseuds/Etched_in_Fire'>Etched_in_Fire</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Star Fox: Fate's Decree [13]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Fox Series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adventure, Banter, Friendship, Gen, Grief, Morally Grey Themes, POV First Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Science Fiction, Short Stories, Space Pirates, Themes of Imperialism, Worldbuilding, episodic, first generation - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 12:01:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,758</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23847808</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etched_in_Fire/pseuds/Etched_in_Fire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a year since the Lylat Wars and Fox decides to undertake a seemingly impossible task-- cleaning out the Great Fox.  Having taken up his father's mantle, he had left most of his dad's belongings intact.  But when he starts to dig into the lesser used sections of the mothership, he uncovers a recording left by his father detailing the first generation's adventures.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fox McCloud/Fara Phoenix, James McCloud/Vixy Reinard, Peppy Hare/Vivian Hare</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Star Fox: Fate's Decree [13]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/51568</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Atop a Dusty Shelf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The start of this fic takes place 1 year after the Lylat Wars, but the short stories that follow will occur well before then.  Each chapter will have a date at the top.</p><p>Hey all, this is a project that I have been stewing on for quite some time.  I have been wanting to change up my writing style a bit because I could feel myself getting a bit bored by my writing... so I decided to try something a bit new!  </p><p>This story is one that is going to be comprised of episodes or arcs... sort of like a TV show.  I really wanted to delve into the adventures of James McCloud and the first gen team and even though I had a lot of ideas, they didn't really feel like they were enough to warrant a huge fic by themselves.  I had so many different adventure ideas that I thought maybe it would be better to compile them into one big story so that's what I ultimately decided to do.  So this is a bit of a compilation of every adventure into one long fic that doesn't really have an ending planned out so to speak.  I plan on writing on this on and off as a long term project when I get stuck in my other fics and am waiting for inspiration to hit.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>            “Well, Fox, ya done it again!” exclaimed Pete Porcupine as he slid a stack of Cornerian bills across the counter to the vulpine.  Fox picked it up, thumbing through it despite knowing without a doubt that the shopkeeper did not have it in his heart to stiff them the cash.  </p><p>            “My pleasure, Pete,” Fox said with a smile once all of the money had been accounted for. “I’m glad we could help out.”</p><p>             “Yeah!  Those awful thugs didn’t stand a chance against us!” Slippy piped up.  “They shouldn’t be botherin’ you or your store anymore.”</p><p>            “And glad I am to hear it,” Pete said with a toothy grin.  He set aside his broomstick and wandered out from behind the counter, thin arms reaching out to give Fox a hug.  The vulpine reciprocated the action, careful to hug around Pete’s spikes.  When Pete let go of Fox, he beamed up at him, a bittersweet gleam in his eyes.</p><p>            “Look at ya!  Ya got so tall.  Just a spittin’ image of your pops, too,” Pete said. “And just as reliable too.  I’ll be keepin’ ya in mind if I have any more trouble.”</p><p>            “Sounds good,” Fox replied with a smile.  Years ago, he might have flinched at the comment about being similar to his father.  But he had heard it enough times.  His skin was thicker than that.  “Take it easy, pal.  We’ll be back by in a month but if you have issues before that, give us a ring.”</p><p>            “Will do!  Have a good one!” Pete waved as the two departed his store.</p><p>            Red Oasis was a tiny town, not even a speck on Papetoon’s map.  It was a cluster of buildings hidden amid plateaus and dry bluffs.  It was so small that the town did not even have its own hangar—people visiting just parked their ships outside the town’s limits and walked in.  Fox and Slippy wandered the town’s only road, looking at the old timey rustic shops on either sides.  An old lady swept her porch, donned in a floral bonnet and matching dress.  A stray tumbleweed bounced by in front of them.  Fox took in a deep breath.  Yes.  There was nothing like the smell of Papetoon in its old western glory.</p><p>            “This place must be pretty nostalgic for you,” Slippy remarked to Fox.</p><p>            “A bit, I guess.  My grandparents used to live a little outside of town,” Fox replied. “We’d come to Pete’s shop a lot.  Dad would always buy me a sucker if I behaved.  Which I always did.”</p><p>            “I wouldn’t doubt it!” Slippy replied with one of his jovial smiles.</p><p>            Papetoon was where Fox had spent a better part of his childhood but he would have never considered those days the best days of his youth.  It had not been long after his mother’s death that his father had moved them to the boonies of the civilized sector of the Lylat System, where they had spent years tending to the farm owned by Fox’s grandparents.  James and Fox had ended up moving back to Corneria a while later due to job prospects.  Nevertheless, Fox felt as though Papetoon was home just as much as Corneria.</p><p>            The team had a base on the arid planet.  It was a small building outside of Red Oasis that they rented when they needed to lay anchor for a bit.  Fox and Slippy had initially come by to drop off rent—a quick venture, Fox had been certain of.  And then they had run into Pete on the way back.  Pete had been distraught over bandits plundering his home.  Fox and Slippy had thought to phone in Falco and Peppy for back up but the ruffians ended up being nothing that they couldn’t handle. </p><p>            As the two walked towards their parked Arwings at the edge of town, Fox handed Slippy half of the cash that Pete had given him.</p><p>            “Halfsies,” Fox smiled at him. “What ya gonna do with it?”</p><p>            “Hmm, gotta upgrade my PC soon,” Slippy said thoughtfully. “Maybe it’ll go towards that.  Or pizza.  Probably pizza.”</p><p>            “Geez.  With how much pizza we’ve been eating, I should probably commission a running track for the Great Fox.  I’ve def had to loosen my belt a bit,” Fox joked.</p><p>            “The day we gotta do laps is the day I put in my resignation!” Slippy joked back.</p><p>            “Heh, guess I better post the job,” Fox winked.  “Maybe Katt will turn in another application.  Could you imagine Falco’s face?”</p><p>            Slippy chuckled. “He’d go into molting season on the spot!”</p><p>            The flight back to the Great Fox was uneventful and short.  From space, Papetoon was a dull brown sphere, decorated by wispy clouds and the occasional blue patch where there was an ocean.  Fox docked his Arwing next to Slippy’s and hopped out.  He gave the other two Arwings in the hangar a quick glance.  It looked like Peppy and Falco were still aboard the Great Fox somewhere.  He had sent them a message saying they would take a bit longer but judging from the time, he assumed Falco was probably still in bed and Peppy was probably watching his dramas while they still had decent reception. </p><p>            He thought about taking a break to get the other two up to speed as to what had taken so long but Fox decided against it.  It had been a year since the end of the Lylat Wars and although Fox had done much to step into the role his father had left behind for him, there was still much to do.  Namely, half of the Great Fox was still filled with old junk leftover from the first generation of the team.  Fox had decided since they had a bit of downtime that it would be good to start cleaning out the old storage rooms. </p><p>            Fox set to work immediately when he made it to the area of their mothership in question.  Armed with a broom, a dust bin, some gloves, and burning determination, the vulpine began to clear out the millions upon millions of boxes in one of the first storage rooms. The lightbulb for some reason did not work so he left the door open to let the hallway light in.  He cut a few boxes open to look inside them, inspecting their contents with a wary green eyes.  Old books.  Old maps that were outdated.  Old junk—a radio that was covered in dust, some rocks from various planets, a few model planes that Fox had to guess were older than he was.  There were boxes that had other boxes in them.  Boxes filled with nothing.</p><p>            He worked for an hour before he decided to sit down and take a break.  Fox sat and pulled his phone out, leaning against the door in the hallway.  He pondered what he could do before it occurred to him that he had not heard from Fara at all in the past few days.  He opened up his contacts and scrolled to her name.  On her contact page, he had a picture of them both, standing next to each other with big smiles.  He remembered that day well—it was his graduation from public school into the military.  A day that seemed so long ago… his father had taken the picture.  Fox had been surprised when James had shown up.  He had figured his dad would have been gone on a mission halfway across the galaxy…</p><p>            Fox’s thumb hovered over the call button, looking down at his girlfriend’s name with quiet apprehension.  Ever since the day he had left Corneria City, there had been something odd between the two.  Her lingering resentment towards his choice to drop from the academy stained their relationship, twisting what used to be so easy and carefree into something that felt like a chore to uphold.  Fox’s left ear flitted to side, knowing he should not have these feelings, knowing that he ought to just push the button.  He sighed.  It took all of his willpower to call her.</p><p>            The phone rang.  And it rang.  And it rang. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Hi, this is Fara Phoenix speaking.  Please leave a voicemail after the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!  Thanks!”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>            Fox sighed again, ending the call before the beep.  He would try again later.  Or so he told himself.  He pocketed the phone and dragged himself to his feet.  With a sigh, the vulpine looked back at the storage room.  It seemed like a dauntless task.  He thought about asking the others to help but it felt like a job that he had to do himself.  His father had likely been the one to put most of these boxes here… it was fitting that he would be the one to clear it all out.  Who knew?  Maybe they could find enough to sell that they could make enough of a profit to buy some upgrades to the Great Fox?  Maybe some of the retro stuff would appeal to a collector…</p><p>            It was a slim chance but Fox knew he had to believe. </p><p>            He got back to work.  The quiet of space was relaxing in a way.  It made the sound of his sweeping louder but somehow, it was comforting.  After all of the chaos that had troubled his life, sometimes just sweeping back and forth felt like an emotional break.  The vulpine gathered the dust into a pan then dumped it into a trash can he had brought from the kitchen.  He turned and looked at the room, noticing the progress he had made.  There were still boxes left but the center of the room was mostly empty.  All that was left was a tall shelf at the far end and then a few boxes pushed against the wall.</p><p>            Fox blinked in surprise, realizing he had not even noticed the shelf at first.  He wandered towards it, leaning in to inspect it.  It was older but he could already envision it in his room.  He had needed something like this—something to hold some of the knick-knacks he had brought with him from Corneria City.  Most of the shelves were empty but he could not tell if there was anything atop the shelf.  He reached up but the top was still beyond his grasp.  With resolve and a frown, the vulpine hopped onto the lowest shelf and reached as high as he could.  Dust greeted his fingers… it was empty… except for… something.   It was a flat, cold feeling object.  He patted the area around it, working his fingers under it until he finally got a good grasp on it.  As he pulled his arm back to look at what had been sitting up there, the shelf beneath his feet creaked… and promptly broke, sending the vulpine tumbling backwards.  He landed roughly on his tail, wincing loudly. The shelf in front of him teetered and he stabilized it with a hand.</p><p>            “Well, that was awkward,” Fox commented to himself, then glanced over at his discovery.  “Now, what are you…”</p><p>            The object that had been sitting on top of the shelf was a strange octagon made of metal.  Fox cocked his head to the side as he looked down at it.  The light from the hallway streamed exactly onto it, revealing it to be some form of hologram device.  Fox had seen an older model like this before.  His grandparents had owned one.  His grandmother would record things every so often—usually memos for herself, especially when she had started to become more forgetful in her later years. </p><p>            Dusting off his hands on his pants, Fox picked up the device.  He cradled it in a palm, looking over the buttons.  There was a button each for playing the hologram, pausing, fast-forwarding, rewinding, and recording.</p><p>            He thought about putting it in with the other junk he had planned to sell.  But he was curious.  Curious enough to know that he would never forgive himself if he did not at least check the recorder’s records.  Ears back, Fox clicked the play button.  He could feel his breath held in his lungs.  His heart hammered with anticipation and hope.  Hope that there was something there. Something that even he did not know how to put into words.</p><p>            But nothing happened.  Dismayed, the vulpine hung his head.  Of COURSE it hadn’t worked.  He should have known to not expect so much from the dusty crap his father had left for him to clean up.  Fox sighed and tossed the device carelessly away with the rest of the junk.</p><p>            There was a buzz, a bleep, and a familiar voice greeted him from behind.</p><p>            “Testing… testing… Geez, I hope this thing is on.”</p><p>            Fox knew without doubt who was speaking on the recording.  He whipped around, looking at where the recorder was sitting upside down.  Its projection into the floor made a bright neon blue light.  Quickly, Fox turned the device over and the hologram began to correct itself.</p><p>            Before Fox knew it, he was staring into the eyes of his own father.</p><p>            “Well, I guess this is a test run,” James McCloud said with a smile.  “Vivian told me that it would be a good idea for me or Pepster to record our adventures.  I guess she thinks they could make a good movie some day or somethin’.  I don’t know.  Pep told me he didn’t wanna do it—said he was never good with words.  So I guess that means I gotta.  So… if you’re seeing this… Hi.  The name’s James.  James McCloud, lead pilot of the Star Fox team.  I… geesh.  I hope I can edit this sort of thing later…”</p><p>            The hologram was just James’s shoulders and up but it was incredibly detailed.  Without his sunglasses, his father’s stormy blue eyes felt as real as they had before.  Fox leaned in close, feeling breathless in a way he had not felt since the day he had fought Andross.  The hologram of James looked like he was maybe shuffling through notes off-screen.  Fox smiled. </p><p>            “Well, I guess I’d better just start from the beginning,” James said, looking from whatever was off-screen and directly into Fox’s eyes. “For whoever’s listening… if it’s Vivian… or the General… heck, or maybe even Fox…”</p><p>            The hologram smiled fondly for a moment.</p><p>            “This is the story of the Star Fox team.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Through the Storm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The tale of Star Fox's big break.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I told you guys I'd get around to writing first gen SF short stories eventually.</p><p>CW: Contains themes of imperialism, which is a tag that I'm going to be adding.  Remember kids, imperialism bad.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It began when the Cornerian Civil War ended and I realized I was done living a life where all I did was answer to superiors who couldn’t tell down from up.  I knew that being a pilot was my calling.  But damn it, I could not stand that military life.  Being a pilot, being in the thick of a storm of lasers and helping people… I knew that was my calling long before Star Fox was ever formed.  I had the dream of owning my own team.  We could help out people in need without waiting on the damn politics like the Cornerians.  We could go where we wanted.  It was a sort of freedom that made my heart sing.</p><p>Yeah, it was the War that started it all.  When the military had decided to overthrow the government, people were telling me to pack up my uniform.  To run for Papetoon.  Or somewhere even further out than that.  But I saw why things needed to change.  The government was getting fat off our dime and people wanted a change they weren’t gonna give.  It was up to the true sons of Lylat to make things right.  So when Pepper asked me what I planned to do… I threw my lot in with the coup.  And when everything was said and done, I thought I’d feel different.  I thought it’d be different.  I look back at that war… political ideologies and stuff… people dying and bleeding over what they believed in… It was…</p><p>Nah.  That’s a story for another time.  Star Fox is what happened when I realized I didn’t wanna play by the military rules anymore.  Just wanted to do good out there.  There were a lot of folks needing somebody and I knew I could be that somebody.</p><p>I started to plan the team right after the War.  But money was tight, even with Vixy working at the lab.  And then Fox was born—our little surprise.  And with Vixy working long hours, I decided to stay home for a bit and take care of him.  But as relaxing as it was being a stay-at-home dad, I missed flying real bad.  And I wanted to go back as soon as Fox was old enough.</p><p>After Vixy… died, I moved from Corneria out of grief.  I couldn’t stand to be there, in her city, without her.  I took Fox with me and we helped my folks back on Papetoon for a while.  But when they passed, I knew their farmer’s lifestyle just wasn’t for me or my kid.  So I sold their land—my ancestors are probably turning their graves at the thought.</p><p>I took the cash from selling the land and I moved back to Corneria City.  Peppy helped me get started again.  His daughter, Lucy, is around Fox’s age so that helped a lot.  I used to get scared he was just bottling everything but I guess that’s just me impressing my own fears onto the kid.  Even so, his life was surrounded by death at a young age.  I hated how many people he lost so early.  But I knew that he’d come out stronger for it in the end. </p><p>I told Peppy about my dream to make a mercenary team.  He’d been working as a security officer at a local museum.  It wasn’t paying nearly enough for the hours.  He dropped the job first chance he got and we began getting to work.  I’m sure Vivian wasn’t too thrilled.  We picked up Pigma Dengar a bit later after deciding we needed one more wingmate and I commissioned Beltino Toad to help us design the Arwing.  The Great Fox was a purchase I made from Pepper.  It was an old carrier model they had discontinued.  I’m up to my eyeballs in debt even now but I don’t care.  He’s kind enough to not charge me interest.</p><p>Our first jobs were small, hardly noteworthy.  A few guard duty jobs.  Some fetching jobs.  They all paid like crap. </p><p>And then there was Fichina.  Fichina was the first large scale job we ever took.  General Pepper hired us to go to that freezing deathtrap and I could not believe our luck.  He said that he didn’t trust the average guard for what we needed to do.  He wanted a specialized unit to escort a train from Fichina City to a town a couple hundred miles away called Borealis.  When he told me the pay rate for it, I didn’t even wait for the other two to weigh in.  I took that job immediately.</p><p>Before we knew it, we were standing knee-deep in snow at a Cornerian base in Fichina City.  Our primary contact planetside was an old sheepdog named Captain Lyle Bognus—probably the silliest name I’ve heard in my life.  He inspected us past his fuzzy white fur, glaring Pigma in particular up and down with suspicion.  The cigar in his mouth puffed out a small trail of smoke.</p><p>“The Arctics,” the old sheepdog declared in his brassy voice. “Are a disagreeable lot.”</p><p>“The… Arctics, sir?” Peppy asked.</p><p>“Arctic Fury,” the sheepdog said. “A terrorist organization keen on destroying as many Cornerian lives as possible.  ‘Til the snow and ice on this godforsaken planet runs red.  They’ve smashed up a good number of our Mark I fighters, they have.  And they’ve got the bloodlust to smash a bunch more.”</p><p>“Ah,” Peppy said, lowering his head.</p><p>“Look up, boys,” Bognus said, pointing at the bleak gray sky. “Fichina’s suffered for centuries cause of the weather.  Corneria’s trying to make this place hospitable again.  But Arctic Fury’s got their eyes on our operation.  Specifically, a train that’s supposed to run supplies out to the new climate control center out in Borealis.  They’ll see it blown to shit if they can.  That’s where you come in.”</p><p>“We blow them to shit first when they show up,” I replied. “Sounds straightforward enough.”</p><p>“It’s straightforward until they hit ya with their cloaked speeders.  These terrorists are well-equipped,” Bognus said. “You’ve orders to kill ‘em on sight.”</p><p>“I don’t remember the General saying that,” Peppy began uncertainly.</p><p>“He gave me the orders to give to you,” Bognus replied, marching over towards the hare.   He leaned in. “Do you know how often we find skeletons in the tundra?  Every goddamn day.  Loosen up on the Arctics and yours will be fished out next, I think.”</p><p>“Right…” Peppy replied, ears standing up in alarm.</p><p>“We get the train to Borealis.  Then what?” Pigma asked.</p><p>“You get paid,” Bognus replied, exhaling out smoke. </p><p>We had some time to kill before the train left so we hung around a small cafeteria area of Fichina City’s military base.  Going to a mission on an empty stomach was about as good of an idea as deciding to go sunbathing on Solar.  The grub they had at the base was so frozen that I thought Pigma was going to fly back to the Great Fox to fetch a chisel.  But we managed it down regardless and had a few laughs as Peppy’s tongue got stuck to some chopped carrots. </p><p>After the icy meal, we settled for a mug of black coffee each.  There were a few soldiers in the cafeteria as well, each donned in heavy coats that were still frosted from being outside in the elements.  They cast wary glares in our direction, muttering among themselves.  I made eye contact with a few of them but they didn’t seem keen on staring when I was looking their way. </p><p>Finally, one came towards me, some Samoyed brat with a coat as pure white as the blizzard outside.  His uniform marks him as a cadet—probably too young to have served in the last war.  Maybe they had stationed him out here because he was too much to deal with.  Maybe the cold would cool off his hot head.</p><p>He looked down his pointed snout at me, leaning over the table between Pigma and Peppy.  His shoulder bumped Peppy over and the hare scowled at him indignantly. </p><p>“So what’s the story?” the Samoyed asked. “They buy you guys to use as bait for the Arctics?  Heh, you’ll be popsicles before you even make it past the mountains.”</p><p>“We’ll be popsicles but we we’ll be richer than the soldiers that we were hired to replace because they couldn’t do their job,” I replied, leaning forward and resting my chin on my curled fist.</p><p>His scowl felt satisfying.  Disgusted, he growled low in his throat and for a split second, I feared that I was about to get into a brawl in the middle of a cafeteria just an hour before launch time.  A smug smile spread its way across my muzzle regardless.  We were here on the General’s orders—only he could see us dismissed at this point.</p><p>“We’ll see if that sass keeps you alive out there,” the Samoyed snapped back and returned to his chair, amid his snickering comrades.</p><p>“Charming folk out here,” Peppy remarked as he took a sip from his drink. “I don’t suppose they have the best out here defending Fichina.  Kind of off the radar for most ne’er-do-wells.”</p><p>“What would people even steal here?” Pigma asked. “Ice?”</p><p>“There’s some theories that Fichina has large deposits of minerals—under all of the permafrost, of course.  Maybe that’s why the General is so keen on fixing the weather here,” Peppy shrugged.</p><p>That last hour ticked by faster than I could have anticipated.  Before long, we were back at the hangar, shivering through the wind as the large doors opened.  Snow fell in sideways in sheets, creating a mist that I knew would make our job all the more difficult.  I didn’t want to suggest postponing for safety reasons.  We were still small fry back then so I doubt Captain Bognus would even think on my idea for a millisecond. </p><p>“Some weather today,” one of the maintenance crew inside said once we had stepped in.  The large hangar door sat open and bits of the snow began to blow in.  No one seemed surprised or panicked by this and I assumed it was because this was a frequent occurrence. </p><p>“No shit,” Pigma retorted.</p><p>Our Arwings sat comfortably in the fighter hangar, positioned all of the way in the back.  Mechanics and pilots both walked around, some clustered together and talking.  Others worked on some of the Cornerian fighters, opening up their hatches to gaze at the engines.  I could only imagine that it was rough to do upkeep out here on a regular basis with so many starfighters.  I was even worried about letting the Arwings sit for a few hours in the comfort of the hangar.  I knew that when Beltino and I had gone over the schematics, he had told me he had accounted for extreme weather.  But I couldn’t quite remember how cold the air had to be before the Arwings shut down.</p><p>“Glad we have heaters installed,” Pigma smirked.</p><p>“Well, you’re certainly not on Katina anymore,” I joked back and the hog laughed.</p><p>“You can say that again.  Next paycheck, can we put in seat warmers?” Pigma chuckled.</p><p>“I’ll think about it, especially if we take more gigs here,” I replied.</p><p>All three of us made our way to our Arwings.  Climbing into the cockpit always gives me a thrill of excitement and that day was no different.  When I ran my hands over the Arwing’s dash, I could feel the ship calling out to me, telling me it was time to show those Cornerian shmucks who was really the best pilot around this frigid wasteland.</p><p>I fastened my headset on, adjusting the mic so it rested just a half-inch from my mouth.  Sitting just behind the control stick and atop the dash were my aviators.  I grabbed them by the nose piece, flicked out the hinged ear pieces and slid them atop my muzzle.  My father had gifted them to me a year before he passed away.  I’d be damned if I wasn’t carrying a part of him with me everywhere I went.</p><p>  With a smile, I patted my Arwing’s dash lovingly and then turned the engines on.  The sound they made was a lovely roar and when I looked out the cockpit, I could see the wandering eyes of the Cornerian soldiers falling upon our navy and white starfighters.  I gave them a smile and a wave.  They did not respond.  But they watched.  And that was all I cared about.</p><p>The Arwing’s internal system went into diagnostics check, scanning each part of the starfighter.  The monitor brought up a small blueprint of the Arwing’s model, crafted digitally by Beltino Toad all of those years ago when we had dreamed up the Arwings together.  Each part lit up with the check, and I watched the process, mesmerized, as if somehow I hadn’t seen it happen a billion times before.  It always helped make the dream feel more real.</p><p>I adjusted the safety belt around my torso, making sure it was tight enough to hold me in place in case things got chaotic.  I opened communications to Peppy and Pigma, their faces pulled up on the secondary monitor. </p><p>“Almost done with systems check.  You two looking good?” I asked.</p><p>“Right as rain,” Peppy gave me a thumbs up.</p><p>“Ready to kick ass and take names,” Pigma gave me a sloppy salute.</p><p>“Let’s rock and roll, boys,” I replied.</p><p>My Arwing lifted from the ground, hovering a few feet over the hangar floor.  When my fingers wrapped around the thrusters, I reminded myself that there was no messing this one up.  I had a budding reputation to defend.  Though the idea of this being the mission that made or broke my career was terrifying, I didn’t give myself long to get scared.  I pushed the Arwing into a boost and zipped out the hangar doors, into a flurry of blinding snowfall.</p><p>Immediately, my gaze fell onto my radar.  It mapped out our surroundings, detailing where tall buildings might be located.  Thankfully, the ice planet had few of those to speak of.  Given that the planet was almost always wrapped up in a snowstorm, I suppose that made sense—building efforts were probably not geared towards how tall and fancy they could make their buildings but how durable.</p><p>Needless to say, the base we had been at was made of stout metallic buildings surrounded by a wall, its Cornerian allegiance only noted by a single flag that flapped wildly in the wind.  On the opposite side of the hangar was the train station and I could see through the bleak snow that there were a series of red lights designating its location.</p><p>I checked behind me and the other two had made it out of the hangar as well.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  Fichina’s skies are very rarely suited for flight but I knew that if we were going to make a name of ourselves, we were going to have to risk it all.</p><p>A communication hail from the Fichinan base came to my attention and I accepted it without question.  Captain Bognus’s shaggy face came into view, his gloomy eyes peering past a fuzzy veil of fur.</p><p>“Alright, Star Fox.  Time to earn your keep.  The train is leaving the station now.  Keep up with it and make sure it arrives and I’ll tell the General it wasn’t a waste of credits to hire you,” Bognus said.</p><p>“Affirmative,” I replied, trying to ignore how everyone seemed to think we were destined to fail.</p><p>Bognus’s image disappeared with a click, making Peppy and Pigma’s faces larger on the monitor.  I wanted to make a comment about how I didn’t think the Cornerians liked us too much but I was a bit worried it’d dampen the moral.  So I just smiled and kept on flying through that frozen storm. </p><p>The train beeped on my radar and I watched as it began to move.  We had taken off parallel to its tracks and slightly ahead of its launch, so I looped back around to get a better look.  Peppy and Pigma followed me.  Driving my Arwing to a lower altitude, I looked out the window and saw the gray, steel-plated front car ploughing its way through the dismal weather.  Front and center hung a single lamp, blaring white light into the blizzard.  A blaring horn’s cry resonated from it, as if to say it saw us.  Satisfied, I pulled up slightly, keeping the train within eyesight as best as I could. </p><p>It had to have only been an hour before I began to realize something was wrong.  And when they arrived, it was like a bunch of ghosts in the haze.  Slowly taking shape and then solidifying until I realize they were everywhere.  These Arctics they had told me about, each sitting on snow speeders darting across the white fields.  Dressed up better than any bandits I’d laid eyes on, with thick fur-rimmed coats, goggles, and blasters pointed at us.  Old modified stuff from the Civil War.  Like staring down the barrel of my past.</p><p>They popped shots at us and blaster fire raked the bottom of my Arwing before I pulled up.  I hit the brakes and they zoomed ahead.  Easy pickings but the thought of it made my stomach do a flip.  Killing people for politics never felt good but I remembered the deal.  My finger found the trigger and squeezed it.  First shot hit the snow and they scattered, flicking on their cloaking.  I glanced at my radar, the howling winds all around us casting up snow that twinkled as it descended.  Like a bunch of damn confetti but impossible to see through.</p><p>My radar, though—that was the ticket.  They zipped and zoomed but the Arwing was clever enough to tell something was there even when my eyes couldn’t see it.  I blasted the snout off one speeder and its cloaking device shut off in time for me to see it crash with a lethal plume of smoke.  It didn’t feel good but I told myself they’d blow this train to shit if I didn’t do it.  Still sucked, reminded me too much of things I didn’t wanna remember.</p><p>“Fast buggers,” Peppy commented as he chased after one.</p><p>“Too bad we don’t have homing lasers,” Pigma whined.</p><p>“Next paycheck, next paycheck,” I reassured the both of them, spying one speeder as its cloaking fizzled out.  I saw the flash of a grenade against the train.  The car took a hefty hit and I wouldn’t wait to see what a second one did.  The speeder cut away sharply, anticipating my movement.  I pursued, firing at them until their engine caught flame and they spiraled out of control into a snow dune.</p><p>I was about to comment that these guys seemed too unprofessional to give the Cornerians such a work over.  And then the first harpoon hit my Arwing, lassoing my left wing.  My ship came to a halt in the air, tugging against the cable.  My radar blipped to life with unknown units behind me but I didn’t have to guess their allegiance.  A couple of swears later and then the laser fire began across my Arwing’s backside, jostling me in the cockpit.  The safety on my seatbelt activated, anchoring my back to the chair.</p><p>“Damn it!” I cursed and saw Pigma turn around to aid me.  He blazed on by me, firing at the enemies approaching us from the rear.</p><p>A few hits to the cable tore me loose and I swung my Arwing around to see what was coming at us.  More speeders but bigger than the ones before.  They were the size of army tanks, moving over the snow like ships cutting through water.  Cannons were attached atop the middle of each speeder.  And aboard each one, a handful of the Arctics, waving and hollering like savages.  Penguins, wolves, reindeer, walruses.  Blasters firing into the air barbarically, like some wild display of dominance.</p><p>“Keep with the train, Peppy.  Pigma, with me,” I said into the comms and we headed for the small militia trying to put an end to our operation.</p><p>They fired upon us and I felt some hits ding my right wing.  I didn’t aim for the zealots all but hanging out of the window; I aimed for the speeders themselves, trying to disable them to prevent loss of life.  It was maybe a futile effort but damn it, I wanted to try anyways.  The world was too cruel and I didn’t wanna make it worse by leaving more corpses on the tundra than I had to. </p><p>A harpoon caught on Pigma’s Arwing and they began trying to drag his ship down.  I dodged around a second cable, trying to free Pigma as best as I could with a blast of lasers.  When Pigma got out free, we began firing down upon the outlaws.  They shot some mortars at us, the crisp and cold sky blossoming with plumes of fire.  But at the end of it all, it was clear the Arwings were too fast for them to shoot down.  And the speeders began their retreat into the cold snow fields.  A run of shame, if you ask me.</p><p>“I expected more,” Pigma snorted when the last speeder faded from view. </p><p>“Yeah?  Where would they have gotten the resources?” I asked.</p><p>“Stole ‘em from the CDF base?”</p><p>“Maybe but I reckon the weather makes it hard to do stuff like that.”</p><p>“Eh, doesn’t matter.  They wasn’t nothing compared to us.  Didn’t even have any ships!”</p><p>He was right.  They had been outfitted poorly for a fight against the Arwings, which are more agile, more powerful than the average Cornerian Mark I.  Their speeders and cables had been impressive, just not enough to win the day.  And now that the CDF was hiring outside help to make sure their raids were unsuccessful, I think the futility of their cause was showing.  Bandits versus the biggest military presence in the Lylat System?  C’mon.  They stood no chance, even if they could knock out the CDF’s Mark Is.  Corneria had near infinite resources.  The Arctics were fighting a losing battle for a cold hellhole of a planet.  It was a tragic story but I guess there were tragic stories everywhere.</p><p>Corneria had come here to make things better for everyone but I guess that was just a matter of opinion.  Everything about Corneria is like that.  They seem to think they have great ideas and everyone else seems to disagree.  But they got the guns to make people agree and… well, usually people with the guns get to decide what’s best for everyone, even if the truth is a bit different. </p><p>But a job was a job and when Borealis came into sight, I felt relief seep into my flesh just as fast as the Fichanan cold did.  The town was mostly under construction but its center held the climate control center.  It was hard to miss, a large tower with a barrier blooming from its spires to protect everyone.  The train hurtled towards it and when it came close enough, the barrier lowered.  We flew in and I hoped wherever we landed had a nice mug of hot coffee waiting for the three of us.  My Arwing’s heating system did its best but Fichina’s cold was clearly stronger. </p><p>We landed at the station and some CDF boys let us crash in their lounge.  A cup of coffee was had and Bognus let us know we could pick up our cash for the job well done back in Fichina City.  We fueled up and began back, idle chatter between the three of us the only sound other than the screaming wind.  Not many radio stations out on Fichina.  At least back in those days.</p><p>Thankfully, the blizzard had died down upon our return.  Through the thin snowfall, we could begin to make out where the clouds began and ended overhead.  Stars twinkled overhead.  A pretty picture that almost made me forget how damn cold I was.  We followed the train tracks back to Fichina City.  We flew for a ways until something appeared on my radar.  A scan showed a speeder being guided along by a single person.  My eyes found it just next to the train tracks.  It was smoking slightly, barely moving forward.  Looked like it had been shot to shit with blasters.  Probably my bad. </p><p>“Looks like one of the Arctics,” Pigma said and I began to descend.  The fight was over, after all.  No need to let someone freeze to death.</p><p>“Jimmy, you can’t be serious,” Peppy started.</p><p>“Just a sec,” I replied as I moved my Arwing to touch down near the tracks in front of the Arctic Fury member. </p><p>I hopped out of the cockpit but made sure my blaster was in its holster before my feet touched the snow.  Inside, I knew I was being a damn moron.  And sure, maybe I was stupid but I was too nice to walk away from this guy and leave him in the cold.  Even if I couldn’t get him in my Arwing, I could at least pin his location and get someone out here to rescue him.</p><p>He saw me approach and had his blaster trained on me at once.  It was a rifle with a strap attached to it—a bit of a frontier-type gun that I saw often back home on Papetoon.  He was white-furred, nearly blending with the snow.  A lemming, I think—rodent-like with wide eyes and a thick coat of both hair and fabric to keep out the chill.</p><p>“Keep flyin’ there, dog,” the lemming said to me.  The engine of his speeder sputtered.</p><p>“Was just wantin’ to see if you needed some assistance there, friend,” I replied.</p><p>“After blasting us all like that?  Sounds more like you’re here for sport,” the lemming said back.  “Wouldn’t put it past your type.”</p><p>“No need for such hostilities,” I said, holding up my hands in a peaceful gesture.  “It was just a job for me.  Make sure the train didn’t get blown up on its way to the station.”</p><p>“Just a job for you but everything to us,” the lemming seethed at me, baring his blunt teeth like he was a damn wolf or something.  “You Cornerian?”</p><p>“Nah but I served,” I replied.</p><p>“Then you know it starts like this.  ‘Help’ from the Cornerians.  And the next thing you know, our entire way of life is gone.  Our leaders?  Replaced by Cornerian figureheads that don’t care about us or our planet.  Happened everywhere else.  Katina, Macbeth, Eladard… Papetoon…” the lemming said.</p><p>He wasn’t entirely wrong but I didn’t see the appeal in staying in a frigid hellscape like this.  And I had my own loyalties, even if I knew they were not entirely in the right.  Corneria’s done a lot of bad things in its past but to give credit where credit’s due, it helped Papetoon grow past the dusty old planet it used to be.  We had a better economy back home.  And we could actually fund our schools now.</p><p>“You like being part of an empire?” the lemming asked me.</p><p>“Nah,” I said back.  “I quit the military ‘cause I didn’t wanna get told to shoot people that I didn’t think deserved getting shot.”</p><p>“And yet you had no issue shootin’ all of us,” the lemming replied.</p><p>“As I recall, y’all shot first.”</p><p>“We couldn’t let the train make it to the station.”</p><p>“What’s the big deal with the station?  Wouldn’t you want blizzards like the one before to be more under control?”</p><p>“We would.  But we know it’s a trap of a gift.  They’ll want us to thank them and we’ll be in their debt.”</p><p>“I see.  Well, maybe it’ll go bad, maybe it won’t.  But what do you plan to do?  Blow up trains forever?”</p><p>“If we have to!”</p><p>“Doesn’t seem so sustainable to me.”</p><p>He glowered at me but I noted his rifle lowering.  The lemming looked to the banged up speeder and then he looked to me.  Face full of anger.  It tugged at me, that expression.  Knowing the inevitability of it all.  Corneria would eventually seize this place and we knew that.  It was something no one could stop.  And I felt like the bad guy.  And hell, maybe I <em>was</em> the bad guy.  But I thought of Fox and how we needed cash.  And then I thought of how I had run from the politics back on Corneria… run and run and landed right back into the thick of it again.  I sighed.  It was a madman’s thought but maybe I could talk to the General.  Try to get him to stop and realize what Corneria was doing to its neighbors.  I had served under him once and he trusted me.  Maybe… just maybe…</p><p>My eyes cut to the lemming again and I said to him. “I admire your passion, I really do.  But passion’s not worth much when you’re dead.  Keep that in mind, will you?  And uh…”</p><p>I paused.  What came out of my mouth felt a bit like treason.</p><p>“… keep fighting the good fight.  I won’t be seeing you again, I think.  Had my fill of the tundra.”</p><p>When I returned to my Arwing, I was bombarded with questions from Pigma and Peppy both.</p><p>“I was gonna blast ‘em if he tried to hurt ya,” Peppy reassured me.</p><p>“Nah, it’s good,” I replied as I took off.  The lemming watched me go.  Stubborn as hell but I liked that.  I had a feeling he’d make it.  Wherever he went. </p><p>Returning back to Fichina City’s military base made me feel a bit gross but I managed the meeting with Bognus just fine.  He showed me where he had wired the credits to our bank account.  Stoic as ever, barely a thanks given our way for doing what his men evidently couldn’t do.  As we left, the captain turned to me.  His eyes peered from beyond his fur.</p><p>“You blast the insurgents?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“A pathetic lot, are they not?  Blowing our men to bits out of some warped notion we’re here to steal their freedoms,” Bognus grunted and I had to hold my tongue.  The old sheepdog gave a ‘harrumph’.  “The sooner the climate control base is done, the better.  You did… well enough, Star Fox.  You’re dismissed.”</p><p>We left Fichina that same day.  I couldn’t stand to stay there.  When we made it to the Great Fox, I had Pigma set us a course for Eladard.  There was a nice bar there that we all liked well enough.  And on the flight, I messaged General Pepper.  I asked him to reconsider using such brutal military force on the locals and to try reasoning with those against the Cornerian presence.  Papetoon might have benefitted from Corneria’s aid but that didn’t mean every planet needed it.  And I didn’t want to think of the General as someone who would force an occupation onto another planet.  He was still, in some ways, my superior from the War.  And I just didn’t wanna think of him as anything different than the man he had been in those days.</p><p>The General never replied to my message.  I hope he saw it at the least.  Not that it mattered.  A couple of months after the climate control center at Borealis was completed, a shift in Fichinan leadership was announced.  The few, scattered independent countries there joined a coalition that formally accepted an offer from General Pepper to join the Cornerian Alliance.  I thought of that lemming when I read the news.  And I wondered if he hated me in that moment as much as I hated myself.</p><p>I told myself no more jobs for the General after that.  It was too close to those things I had run from.  The other two didn’t understand but they agreed.  And with our first big job under our belts, we found ourselves a bit higher in demand.  It was the start of something bigger than I could ever imagine.</p>
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